Those little red panties they passed the test...

The Winner and I talk often.  She lives in Chicago, and is a few years younger than me.  Of all the people I've had phone sex with, she has the sexiest voice.  It's feminine and soft and petite, almost squeaky.  She also can be quite insatiable.   Last night I set out to fulfill her, to coax all the orgasms she wanted from her.  For most females I make sure they peak before me, hopefully more than once.  Last night was no exception.  She and I talk a lot about a possible visit to Chicago, and oh the places we would see.  Last night it was about a hotel room.  While most people associate it with the trysts and interactions mostly forbidden, I tend to think about it as an arena for crazier activity.  Call me lame, call me whatever, but I live at home with my parents.  I am still in college, I go to school 15 minutes from home, and it saves a HUUUUGE amount of money.  Why would I pay when I can get it for free? Plus, my parents are pretty cool, and I am close with them.  So there.  

I guess I'm saying the same thing, maybe crazy activities are forbidden since I live at home. Whatever, back to the story.  

She arrives at the room and knocks on the door.  Since I can usually be found relaxing in a pair of basketball shorts without a shirt on, that's how I answer her call.  The door opens and she is happy to see my attire, quick to make herself comfortable against my chest.  Females are nice in their ability to be so damn soft: the smell, the hair, the clothes.  Even their bodies are designed with an uncanny softness. I hug her back, wrapping my larger body around her frame.  The anticipation of waiting for her, and finally seeing those mile-long legs climb up to her cute ass, and the feeling of her statuesque stomach and breasts pressed against me have pulled a rapt attention from me.  My shorts do a poor job hiding it as she makes her way into the room, as I shut the door behind me.  She wore the little jean shorts she brags about owning.  She was right, and I am hooked.  I don't allow her to sit down before I approach her from behind and begin kissing her neck, in all the intersections and creases.  Below her hairline, behind her jaw, down the side of her neck to her collarbone I proceed with lips and teeth.  The biting gives the chance for her to feel a small pain in contrast to the tender warmth of my affection.  My hands on her sides lift her soft little t-shirt and cami (she is adamant that I use the right word) off her warm skin.  They follow the natural lines of her muscle to the front of her body, rolling back and forth between the inside and outside.  My mouth reaches her cheekbones as her hand pulls my head down towards her mouth.  My soft voice rumbles in her ear about how I want to see her panties.  The Winner tells me to take off her shorts so she can show me.  My fingers make their way inside the waist, and trace the circumference of her hips.  I release the first button and unzip (why girls even have those inch and a half zippers on their pants is beyond me).  I instruct her to pull them off without turning around.    The feeling of her barely-covered rear inside her little red boyshorts makes my flesh sing.  My hands reach to the front of her and pull her as close as possible.  Standing with her body against mine, my hands on the meeting of her panties and skin, I want to make her cum.  My deep voice resonates in both our chests as I question when the last time she was fingered without having her panties removed.  The Winner says it was junior high. "Exactly," I thought.  My deliberate movements bring my three greatest fingers to light on the wet spot developing on her boyshorts.  The first two joints used as one consolidated unit are quite effective at applying firm and constant pressure where needed.  The right hand may be busy on the fabric, but the left wastes no time in pulling her leg open. My touch seems to facilitate a clenching of the thighs that makes access a difficult issue.  I continue undulation, allowing my hard excitement to rub against her little red boy shorts.  As her breath is drawn faster and faster, my stimulation moves in turn.  More and more pressure, accelerating pace, pushing myself into her more and more.  Her voice begins reaching out. She's getting close and I push through the pain in my wrists so that the ultimate pleasure will be hers to express to me.  She approaches.  I wait in selfish anticipation. For the second her breath comes in without going out and her neck stiffens, I see complete exposure.  Beautiful.  Then she releases.  And I am so happy.